I don't photograph birds anymore. Well, not much. If you can tolerate a bit of navel gazing, I'll try to tell you why. Thirty years ago bird photography was a passion that grew out of my overall passion for interacting with all things wild in nature. I fished, hunted, backpacked, canoed, gardened and identified wild flowers. The thrill of discovering a new bird -- its shape, color and song -- was indescribable. Like being born again. My life list quickly grew to 300, 400, more than 500. And I wanted to capture each species on film. Ggetting a great bird image was better than seeing a new species. After all, the species were out there and anyone who devoted enough time would eventually see them, but who could capture those birds effectively on film? So the joy of discovery was augmented by the joy of accomplishment. The fact that images could be sold, then displayed for others to admire -- what an ego trip! Soon getting the perfect shot became the new emotional high.
But, as technology improved, competition increased, the $ return dropped and everyone seemed to be a wildlife photographer -- the fun faded. Was it because the challenge diminished? Because big image sales declined? Because technology made it so much easier to capture the perfect image (after Photoshop manipulation, at least?) Or had the joy of discovery worn off? Am I just jaded? My hands used to shake inside my blind at the call of an approaching white-headed woodpecker.
While I lose interest, thousands of baby boomers and some from younger generations seem as enthusiastic as ever. I imagine many boomers are fired up because they finally have the time and finances to pursue what might have been a dream for 30 years whereas I made my living as a writer and photographer. Perhaps turning your love/passion/hobby into work is a bad idea. (But I wouldn't do it differently given a second chance.)
Right now I could be out back capturing light reflecting off juncos and magpies, yet I'd rather read Dostoyevski. What's wrong with me? My thinking is something like this: I should set up a blind, some perches and a neutral background and capture the ultimate magpie shot. But what for? Surely 10,000 outstanding magpie pictures already exist. Do I want to spend hours sorting images on the computer, then storing them? I've got 250,000 old slides slowly fading in file drawers already. Who cares? Will nature benefit if I make another bird picture? Why don't I just take a walk with a Swarovski 8x42 'round my neck?
There's no right or wrong here. I'm just curious. Why do you pursue bird photography?
Ron Spomer